Edited on 10/13/19

~Prologue~

Every action taken in life is dictated by choice. Every choice leads to a consequence. Even in inaction, you have made a choice. Obviously knowing this now, I might have done things differently, for my former life that is, but alas there's no way to change the past. I can, however ruminate: to start, I might have chosen to leave the library a few minutes earlier, or maybe just a few minutes later. Maybe I would choose to not take the alleyway shortcut. I like to think I would choose to be a bit more bold—running away instead of gawking when the stranger confronted me with a knife.

But hindsight is twenty- twenty, and it's too late to make those choices now. I left the library at the same time as always, a creature of habit. I was a very punctual person, aways sticking to my routines. I chose to take the shortcut because I always took that alleyway and had never minded shaving the 5 minutes off of my commute. I needed the extra time back in my schedule so that I would get home faster and have some extra time to cram for my exams. And unfortunately when confronted with a stranger with a knife (But on second thought—not a stranger, hadn't I seen him around recently? Had he been following me?) I chose to stare at my demise. I can't take back those choices and so the consequences of my actions stay with me. Haunt me even.

I couldn't change my past….but I've chosen to change my future.

Unbeknownst to me, in a far off place, a world away, a female ninja is giving birth. She's also surrounded by choices, just like I had been moments earlier. No one around her knows who she is or where she is from. They don't even know that she's a ninja because she's been trained for far too many years in secrecy.

As occasionally happens with births, there are complications and she is given an ultimatum. Save the child or save herself.

Her choices decide her:

In one world she choses herself; the baby is being born prematurely and survival outside of the womb is unlikely. Logically, it doesn't make sense for them both to die. She is a practical and within the confines of her mind, she is cold and analytical.

In another world, she choses to save her child. At the cost of her own life, she gives birth to a tiny little girl, so slight that it is unlikely that she will survive the next few minutes, let alone manage to live on past that.

She gives birth to me.

Not that I was aware at the time. She didn't have much time after my birth. While she bled out, the ninja apparently just stared at her newborn, me, while the hospital staff looked on sadly. They didn't bother to take the child from the dying mother; The staff didn't believe I would live much longer, and perhaps felt it was a kindness to face their first and final moments together. And besides, right now my mother deserved to believe that her child would have a chance, if just to make her death much less painful.

Her last words-my mothers last words- as she looks upon this stranger- a child who is screaming, fearful at the new environment; not understanding why she can't see and uncomprehending how an attack by her stalker has ended up with blurry vision and discomfort- are breathy but cheerful, reminiscent of her brother, her father, her family.

"Don't always be so troublesome, hm?"

In one world the child is never born. Life goes on and nothing changes.

However, in another world I am born as Kageko. I am brought up as an orphan and a reincarnated soul. And in this world things do change, for better and for worse.

~Linebreak~

Living in an orphanage was a new experience for me. Of course I didn't realize it right away, but after a few months when I could finally concentrate and hold onto thoughts for more then a few seconds, it was the obvious conclusion. The blankets and sheets for my cot were old and threadbare. The faded yellow walls were in desperate need of a new coat of paint. The whole place looked like it could use some TLC and a lot of cash to help it along. And yet it was, for all intents and purposes, happy.

The caretakers were kind and bubbly ladies ranging all ages who only had soft words for the young children in the nursery with me. While I didn't understand what they were saying, I could understand the feelings they exhibited: kindness and care, love and devotion.

Even though I understood that I was in an orphanage, it took me some time to realize what had happened. To put it all together. In the brief moments before becoming distracted from whatever my caretakers were saying, I began to understand the world around me again. Slowly, ever so slowly, my vision returned to me, allowing me to focus on the environment around me. The cracked yellow walls with beautiful but old tapestries having from them that made me feel so relaxed in their familiarity. I began to process my thoughts, and more importantly my memories. I came to terms with that fact that I had died.

Miracles could occur of course, but I was there and there was no coming back from the injuries I had received. I shuddered to remember my last moments-He had slashed at me, tearing open first my back when I flinched away from him, then eagerly ripping into my chest and stomach as I lay on the ground unable to fight. And then he repeated the motion over and over and over again. I must have seemed a sickly child because the caretakers hovered over me more so than the other cribs in the room whenever I had these shivers and nightmares.

Once I was aware of my surroundings and my past life I had ample time to think when I wasn't sleeping. I wondered about my future. While in my old life I had been a student—soon to graduate from a mid tier medical school—here I was starting all over again. In my old life, I had known nothing more than school, not even managing to complete my residency before I died. I had been so nervous to preform procedures on actual patients. I had worked my entire life to achieve, always aiming to be the best. Part of me wondered if I should skip grades this time and try to jump ahead like all those wonder kids graduating Harvard at 9.

But I also wondered if it was what I still wanted. That constant pressure to succeed. That never ending cycle of self-hate for not being as perfect as I wanted to me. I had rushed home to go study and died for my effort after all. Maybe my second chance at life meant not taking it so seriously.

And a small voice, one deep inside that I tried to bury down, wondered if I could even be a doctor still; would I now fear knives and blood after my unfortunate end?

At that last thought, I pushed the voice aside to focus on the more pressing matter of my reincarnation.

Day in and day out, I spent my childhood mulling over ideas (Why was I reincarnated? How? Where? WHY?) and tried to keep up a cute baby persona. As I aged, I could now think and not lose concentration right away. I also liked the attention I received from my caretakers. And they spent more time hanging out near me when they thought I needed help with things. Besides, they still remembered me as that sickly child, both the premature birth, which I was unaware of, and the nightmare stricken kid who always seemed to be cold and shivery. They seemed awed by my apparent will to survive, healthy now but undeniably on my death throes just months earlier. So slight and small, I would probably never outgrow the effects of being born prematurely. I was fairly oblivious, just very appreciative that I got read waaaay more stories then the other orphans.

I did take advantage of the attention I was given. I was surrounded by other children, all very young and subject to frequent bouts of tears. Every bit of attention was priceless and I latched on to. While my caretakers were kind and devoted, they were clearly over worked. Especially as I got older and the orphanage got even busier.

The ratio of children to adults would have overwhelmed old me. New me was trying to take it easy in this life. Instead of joining in the cacophony of tears, I tried to use my time relaxing by myself, making as little trouble for my caretakers as I could.

Eventually, I began to pick up the language. Small words here and there that eventually clued me into to it being Japanese. My child brain soaked it up like a sponge. By 8 months I had said my first word. By a year, I was able to use small sentences, albeit simply. I didn't show off; just because I could, didn't mean I should. Still, being able to communicate gave me a modicum of independence back.

I was told the same stories every day, and some where familiar versions of my old childhood tales. Most were cute little songs and catchy children rhymes. Other were different, seemingly older but still distinctly children tales full of morals and lessons. There was also my mom's death which was spun as a bedtime story, but I figured my grasp of the language was still lacking. I was told my mother had died after being attacked by random men -how similar and yet different to my own demise- but had fought back. Apparently fighting off her assailants had pushed her into an early labor. Pretty gruesome story for a child but I figured that I must be missing something else with the language barrier.

When I was first learning the language I had been happy to just let the story slide, but as I got older, I really began to relate to this age-inappropriate anecdote. By the time I was able to toddle around, pun intended, I was extremely confused by the tale. I had died when my apparent stalker, may he never rest in hell, had attacked me on the street. Meanwhile, the aunties in their phrasing wove stories about this strong woman that I had never met, was willing to run and fight with all her strength for her unborn child. And come off a winner. But the men she had been fighting were strong. How had she won?

Now, it wasn't that someone fighting back from their attackers was a strange concept. I completely idolized this woman because of her ability to do what I had not been able. It kind of felt like a quirk of fate that my mother had gotten the bastards attacking her while I hadn't managed anything like that.

BUT, I was definitely a little bothered by the phrasing I was slowly picking up on. When I was younger, I didn't bother to question why they would treat the murder of my mother as a bedtime story. The other stories actually could be much more violent, believe it or not, and besides I was genuinely curious and more then a little precocious.

I finally got fed up with the inconsistencies when I as old enough to realize that there was some funny business going on. I was sitting on the counter in the kitchen watching my favorite caretaker prepare lunch for us orphans. At only 2 years old, I was no help to her, but she was kind enough to let me sit here and keep her company. A lot of the caretakers didn't mind me because I knew how to sit down, shut up, and act like I didn't exist. Sometimes they even forgot I was there.

And that worked just fine for me because I was lazy enough to prefer sitting around instead of running around the little plot of land the orphanage had out back. Ameiko was again telling me the story while I clutched my stuffed rabbit focusing intently on her face, earnestly trying to make sure I understood her retelling of my mothers heroic story. This time for sure I was noticing some fuckery that had slipped my notice when Japanese was still new on my tongue.

"She must have been here for the festival because she was dressed in a beautiful kimono, and she had a matching parcel." Ameiko turned from her task of chopping vegetables to brush my fringe from my face and smile at me kindly, "She was so pretty Kage! You'll grow up to look just like her!" I blinked lazily at her, waiting for her to get to the interesting part of my now favorite bed time story.

Ameiko went back to the food but continued on, "She was so beautiful that some of the men around wouldn't leave her alone.- Beautiful people have the hardest path to walk in this world after all!-They followed her and eventually when she ran they chased her into the ally by Lady Makina-sans shop."

Everything up to here was fine and dandy. A little heavy on the 'grow up to be pretty' element, but I guess orphans gotta aspire to something and the caretakers had seen my genetics. No, the weird part was coming up, and internally my brain kicked two gears faster knowing the odd part was coming, but externally I tried not to show any reaction.

"and then, when they wouldn't go away," Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She grabbed them with her shadow and stopped them! Because you can't fight your own shadows!" While a little sparse for details compared to the version I was used to, this was the general story. But surely I was misunderstanding Ameiko.

"From shadows?" my quiet voice startled Ameiko. While at 2 years old I was nearly conversational in Japanese, I rarely spoke aloud and even my favorite house mother was unused to my voice.

Ameiko cocked her head at me and smiled, "Ne, ne Kage! With the shadows. Your okaa-san was very special, Hn?"

I blinked uncomprehending. 'So I hadn't misunderstood the story. But with shadows?' I couldn't understand Ameiko's meaning. Ameiko had gone back to the lunch while I processed this new information. "How?" I demanded, my face betraying my confusion.

"Your okaa-san must have been very clever, ya know?" Ameiko once again gave me a bright smile, but her attention was clearly on lunch and not me.

'Better for it' I thought. This was a strange turn for this new life of mine. People could use shadows? And it wasn't strange? Like it was generally accepted as something that people sometimes just did?

What the fuck.

Maybe I was biased or Amieko was insane. Telling tall tales to the orphan who always clutched a toy rabbit and stared at everything with wide dark eyes.

'Or maybe I'm Harry Potter living with the muggles' The quick reminder of my old favorite bed time story made my heart hurt.

I left the kitchen soon after, still quiet and thinking over what I had heard. 'Nope' I decided. 'I've got to speak to another auntie and check this." Having made my mind up, I made my way slowly out of the orphanage.

Stepping out the open front door, I was bombarded with bright sunlight and a grassy front lawn. While missing the mulch of my first childhood, it reminded me of every playground ever from my first life. Children raced around playing tag and hopscotch. The house mothers watching the children had grouped together and were standing in the shade of my third favorite tree to take a nap under. The reason this tree was only my third favorite was because it had far too many gaps in the leaves and when the sun was directly overhead, the beams would wake me up, hence lacking the superiority of trees one and two.

I made my way over to the aunties and tugged on a woman with short purple hair's shirt sleeve.

'Kira', I thought to myself."Oba-chan," I began, using the informal name all the children used with the housemothers, "Tell story." Kira giggled at me, and crouched down to my level to pinch my cheek, then grab me by the waist and swing me to her hip. I sat comfortably in her arms while she teased me.

"Ah my little kage, you want a story? But you'll fall asleep and its almost lunch time!" I nodded my head. That was true- I probably would take a nap- honestly in this life I found myself much more tired then my first. I blamed it on being a child with an adults memories; I was in danger of brooding and I couldn't stand to be a moody child, so instead I slept. And besides thinking was exhausting.

Kira noted my little acknowledgment but simply chuckled and then asked rhetorically, "Well I suppose we have time for a story. Which one, I wonder. The sage?"

I shook my head, not caring for this particular myth,

"The daimyo and the begger?"

Again I emphatically shook my head, not interested in hearing what I assumed was a Japanese version of the prince and pauper, but couldn't be sure of considering I slept though the ending of most of the children stories that were told.

"Ahhh I know, how about your story little kage?" At this I smiled and nodded my head staring up at Kira's bright blue eyes. Kira grinned at me and began the familiar story while she carried me across the yard, continuing to supervise the more rowdy children. "Ahh Little Kage, you should know this story by heart already. I've told you what I've heard, because I wasn't there, but here it is: from what we pieced together, your Kaa-san was so beautiful, like a princess. So tiny, but it suited her because she was quick. So quick that when three men, drunk on life, and liqueur, and fun from the festival, they couldn't catch her! Still they could tell how beautiful she was and they wanted her so they chased her anyway. She led them to an alleyway, right by where we go to get the fruit in the mornings, and when they went to grab her, she moved."

Here she paused to look at me again, staring wide eyed at her face. Kira was very dramatic, much younger then the other house mothers and it showed in retelling of the tale. A small part of me, the boring responsible adult part, was disgusted with these women for continually telling a child the story of her mothers death... reminding her how physically close she came to the crime scene, to the location of her mothers assault, but it was a tiny part that she could usually shove to the back of her head.

"When the men moved to grab her, they didn't realize how quick she could move." Kira's smile changed to something more awed, something almost reverent in thought of the memory, and a small part of me felt very smug that my mother was able to inspire that feeling in someone. I wished I had been able to do something to my stalker, but my mother, my new mother had managed to make an impression on everyone around her.

I knew that this was all second hand accounts put together as piecemeal and that no one was quite sure what happened. But we knew enough for me to be a little conceited. "Little Kage, never forget, When someone is fast as lighting they are so very quick, but the only thing faster then the light is the shadow. And your Kaa-san was the shadow that night. The men attacked her, as quick as lightening but she struck back with the shadows...and she won."

I frowned. Normally this was the best part of the story, but instead I realized that Kira had used the same phrasing as Amieko.

"Your kaa-san was so very quick and she fought the men. But one of them swung something at her, a broken bottle, a knife, I don't think anyone quite sure what it was, but it cut her."

Here the reverence died out on her face instead allowing the teasing smile back on. "And still your kaa-san protected herself, but more importantly, you." I focused back on the story deciding not to question the shadow bit with Kira just yet. 'Maybe she'll double back and explain it later?' It was an idle thought, because no one had bothered explaining it in weeks past.

I continued listening to the story, but shifting my gaze from Kira's eyes to the playground and the other children who were still cheerfully running away from each other. "And then she moved, quicker even then she had before, rushing to the hospital because she wanted to save you. She was bleeding from the cut to her stomach, and she had some bruises from her attackers, but still she moved to save you. She told them at the hospital what had happened, as best she could- its why we know most of what we do- and some people that had seen the attack explained with more details." Kira tweaked my nose, causing me to wrinkle it but I gave no other reaction, instead staring at a boy who seemed to be struggling to kick a ball more then 2 feet.

"And little Kage that is why you're named Kageko. You are your mothers bright child, born from the shadows. Now let me put you down and start gathering everyone for lunch."

There must've been some signal that I had missed because all the house mothers were starting to corral the children towards the front door. Some of the older children were arriving trough the front gates, back from school for their lunch hour. Kira placed me on the ground and giving me a cheery wave good bye and began to do her own part in herding the orphans.

I sighed, partially annoyed that I had no time for a nap and partially irritated that I still didn't understand what using the shadows meant. And now I couldn't even ask Kira about it.

'Maybe its a difference of time period that's causing the misunderstanding?' I wondered. I wasn't sure when I had been reborn because somethings were so anachronistic that I wondered if I wasn't simply born in the past but a whole new world. Mentally shrugging away my worries for now, I made my way towards the people crowding around lunch.

Hello! This is my first story. I think it starts off pretty slow but picks up quickly enough. The main character is a self-insert/OC with very little general knowledge on the Naruto-verse because almost all of it was learned secondhand. Some of the stuff she remembers is accurate and other things are dead wrong. Also, just because she has an adult mind doesn't mean she doesn't think like a kid sometimes. She's gonna grow up as the story progresses which means she will make stupid choices or be arrogant at times- that's what growing up means. It won't be a cannon rehash and somethings are different just because I say they're different, (I.e some characters are gonna be different ages; these ages have been adjusted on the edit), but I plan on being clear about it so don't worry.

Unfortunately, with my plot in mind, the cannon plot is going to be followed to a certain extent before it branches off. At first it will be slight and you will say oh man, same old same old. Then it will be big and you will say how do you think this is gonna fly. Just go with it.

Please let me know what you think or if you have any criticism on how to improve! I know my spelling is awful, so please feel free to point it out but I might take a while to correct it.

I don't plan on the story going any higher then a T but I will change it to an M if necessary. Mostly T for violence and language. Nothing really explicit is planned as of now.